


Lay on hands

by Phaerlax



Category: Original Work
Genre: Confessional, Doctor/Patient, Fantasy, Fictional Religion & Theology, M/M, Pining, Softcore Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 04:21:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11305575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phaerlax/pseuds/Phaerlax
Summary: Priests to The Lady of Petals have the power to heal even the most grievous wounds with their touch. The specifics of this are nebulous - and there was Eli's chance.





	Lay on hands

**Author's Note:**

> written for delipa18 (https://www.facebook.com/groups/1496203540645612/), may the Grand Lemon help me.  
> Thematic was disney songs, mine was the Healing incantation in Tangled (flower gleam and glow let your power shine heal what has been hurt make the clock reverse etc)

 

“I shit you not! There it was, flying down on me with its fucking fangs – how can one creature need so many teeth? It came down, open maw, shiny red scales dulled with dry blood, and then-”

Ambrose clenched his fist and slammed it dramatically into the wooden table that separated them. He seemed to regret it immediately, wincing as pain shot from the gashes in his arm and shoulder. Regardless, the hero seemed intent in continuing his tale: “And then _snap!_ It bit down hard, but missed my neck. Still, I could feel the fire start to come up its throat; I knew I had only seconds, and didn’t even draw my sword, instead bringing up my fists like this and-”

“Please don’t move so much, Mr. Blackhope!” Eli pleaded, grabbing the man’s wrist before he could do any further grandiose gesticulating with an arm that was still a bloody mess. Despite having nowhere near the strength necessary to actually restrain the muscular Ambrose, the acolyte’s gesture gave him pause. “It will be done soon, so please bear with me for a while.”

“Sorry,” he replied, ruffling his ginger hair absent-mindedly with the other hand. “It was kind of my first red dragon, forgive my excitement…”

“It could have been your last, too. Look at these wounds!” Eli glared at him while getting back to work, tracing the cuts with his fingers and concentrating. Golden light pulsed and sparked from the contact, as the wounds slowly closed. “It could have sliced open a major artery, and, and… I fear not even you could walk that off, Mr. Blackhope. Do be more careful.”

“There was nothing else I could have done. The beast would have had its way with the village and, well, I just can’t have that!” The grin he cracked was somehow both sheepish and cocky. Eli’s heart skipped a beat as he immediately realized looking at that freckled face was a mistake. _So_ _perfect_. He broke eye contact, biting his lip discreetly and trying to focus on the magic. “And how many times must I tell you not to call me mister? I’ve got, like, five years on you? Four? Don’t talk to me like I’m some geezer. Call me Rose.”

“It is but proper decorum in house of worship. Our Lady of Petals demands that we treat all of her children the same way, and that includes language.” Eli waved a hand, gesturing at the chapel around them. Service times were over, as evidenced by the barred doors, and it was empty except for the ever-present, golden smiling visage of the Lady beyond the altar. “And don’t change the subject! Someday you might get hurt and be too far away from town for me to fix it. You need to stop putting yourself in danger like this.”

Lies are a sin before the eyes of the Lady, of course. But his concern was not a lie, was it? Not technically. _Just because I want him to keep coming back doesn’t mean I want him to get_ hurt _like this all the time,_ Eli told himself often. But there was no other reason for Ambrose to come see him. So maybe he _was_ lying.

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll never be far. Being a _local_ legend is still quite enough for me,” the wounded man gloated, and Eli considered chastising him for his hubris, but, well, it was true; Ambrose _was_ something of a local legend. People of every little hamlet within fifty miles would tell tales of the Blade of Spring and his many feats during the last couple of years. He was well on his way to going down in history.

“All the heroes of legend know of are dead, and not from old age…” The acolyte said, frowning, as the last major gash along Ambrose’s arm was undone by his touch. “Just make sure you don’t bite more than you can chew, Ros… Mr. Blackhope.”

“I’m very mindful of my prey, fret not.” The man grinned wide, flexing his newly-fixed arm and nodding in approval, which filled Eli with a warm fuzzy feeling. “Can you do the shoulder next, Father?”

Eli frowned at the title. “As I’ve said many times, I am but an acolyte, Mr. Blackhope, do not call me-”

Ambrose took his shirt off, leaving him no breath to speak with. Eli stared openly and mindlessly at the man’s gorgeous, lightly-haired, well-muscled, scarred-

“Does it look bad?” The question seemed to come from very far away, and the acolyte almost replied with ‘ _no, it looks perfect_ ’ before snapping out of his daze. Ambrose was looking at his shoulder, where there were deep bite marks.

“Y-yes, it looks terrible,” he answered, feeling his face begin to burn. He hoped (almost prayed) it would go unnoticed. “You can get all sorts of diseases from bites like that, not to mention the possible festering. Let me take care of it.”

Eli got up and stood beside the man, laying his hands over the wounds and beginning to wash them away with holy light. It was not, in fact, that bad; armor seemed to have taken the brunt of the bite, and the healing would be relatively quick.

“Good thing you were around, then.”

“Even if my formative obligations had taken me elsewhere this week, Father Donovan would have been more than capable of dealing with this, elderly as he may be. It would just have to be during service hours. The Father is an early sleeper. And a heavy sleeper.”

“I can hear him snore, yes.” Ambrose made a face at the side door which lead into the priests’ quarters.

It was indeed quite loud, and served as background noise for the next few minutes they otherwise spent in silence.

Eli knew he could make quick work of those wounds, but was taking his time. Ambrose would leave soon after they were done with it, and might not return for several days. Still, there was only so much time that could be taken before it got suspicious. Sighing internally, he let out one final pulse of healing light, and the bite marks faded away, leaving no scars behind. Reluctantly – but doing his best not to show it – he interrupted contact.

“There, good as new. Try to stay like that,” the acolyte smiled, hoping to sound convincing. “May Our Lady of Petals shower your path with her graces as you walk it, Mr. Blackhope…”

“Actually, there’s, er, more.” That tone was unusual coming from the usually boisterous Ambrose Blackhope. Eli raised an eyebrow at it. “You know how red dragons have that sharp thing at the tip of the tail? Ah, sorry, you probably don’t. Still. They do. And the tail is pretty long, they use it to fight, and, well, there was this moment when I had its legs locked, and… It kinda reached around with it, and…”

The acolyte’s jaw started dropping a little every couple of words as he took in the meaning of that. He could hear the low roar in his ears as his heart pumped faster.

“I… see. I think. You have a wound in your…”

“There’s a cut in my asscheek and it stings like a motherfucker, yeah,” he spit it out, sighing and rolling his eyes. Only then did Eli realize how he had been wiggling in his seat. “Can you do something about that?”

The young man froze, despite how fast his blood was running. He had to remind himself to breathe.

“I… y-yes, it’s sure not beyond my clerical powers, but…” _My Lady of Petals, forgive me “_ The laying on of hands, it requires… contact, _“_ he finished in a near-whisper.

Ambrose shrugged. “Fine by me,” he said, hands moving to begin undoing his belt. Eli stopped him, urgently.”

“Not here! The Father, he might wake up, and it would be… hard to explain.” The acolyte gave a wary look towards the door on the other side of the chapel. The snoring continued, but you never knew. “Let’s go into the confessional.”

“Uh, sure” Ambrose got up from the pew and followed the acolyte to the imposing, enclosed wooden structure. “Though I don’t see what the big deal is…”

_Good for me._

“W-well, wouldn’t you rather he not see it?” Eli closed the door behind him and set the candle on the small table beside it. The shadows it cast were weird in the confined space. “Let us proceed, then…?”

The other man nodded, and there was a brief white flash of a hesitant smile before he turned his back to Eli. His trousers dropped. The acolyte gulped, mind starting to run through prayers, even though he couldn’t bring himself to look away. Then the underpants dropped.

_glade-mother born in beauty let thy gold flow out abundant let thy silver onward wander_

Ambrose hadn’t put his shirt back on after Eli was done with his shoulder, which meant that he was completely naked before the acolyte as he leaned against the wall of the confessional. As Eli’s gaze wandered down to the space between the legs, absolutely nothing was left to the imagination. It had been bigger in his dreams and… simulations. Still, the acolyte felt like drooling, but his mouth was very dry, as always happened when he got nervous.

He fidgeted with the golden flower hanging from his neck, his holy symbol. What he was doing was _wrong_ …

“So, you’re gonna do it or...”

The voice snapped Eli back into reality and he shook his head. Only then he remembered he had healing to do. He noticed the wound, a thin red gash running diagonally from the back of a thigh up across a buttock. It didn’t look serious, but was probably uncomfortable.

“Sorry. I’m getting ready.” The acolyte took in a deep breath, focusing – he closed his eyes to do it, for the sight before him was much too distracting – and reaching for the warmth of the Lady’s divine magic. It was hard to find at first, and Eli began to panic, but he found it at last. His hands once again glowed, not quite outshining the candlelight. “There.”

As he stepped closer to the naked folk hero, Eli had to make one final preparation: adjusting the front of his trousers, which were running out of space, fast. The bulge would be obvious if Ambrose was facing him, which he thankfully wasn’t.

“This shouldn’t take long,” he announced as he began the laying on of hands. He could have done it by tracing one finger along the cut. He didn’t. He used his whole palm, to the point of almost grabbing the soft, pale flesh. Eli’s mouth was dyer than ever as he ran his tongue over his lips, and his heart pounded so fast the other man _had_ to be listening; he brought the other hand to his chest, attempting to calm it, but to no avail. Magic had its limitations.

“I cut the damned thing’s tail off for this, at least,” the warrior whispered after over a minute in that undignified position. “Ever had a weirder injury on your hands, Eli?”

The acolyte bit his lip at the mention of his name like that, discreetly adjusting his trousers again.

“I… no.” That much was true. After a moment, he added: “You sure you want to make small talk in this situation? It’s really okay to be silent…”

“I’ll go straight to the point, then.” Ambrose laughed heartily, and Eli shivered as he felt him move. There was a point? Why was there a point? “I thought that dragon has gonna burn me to ash for a second. You know that thing about life flashing before your eyes and such? Bullshit. But I did have one regret, you know…”

The talking distracted the acolyte, which meant he forgot to slow down the healing process. The wound was mostly gone now.

“…this unspoken thing between us? It needs to be spoken. If I die before then, I’ll be one frustrated ghost, and I’ve dealt with enough of those to know that it’s-”

“I, I beg your pardon?” Eli backed away, the golden light flickering off. ‘I know not of…”

“This was a test, y’see. I’m pretty clever. When I got this wound, I asked a priest in Irenia if the healy-touch thing could be done through clothing. Guess what he said?”

Eli gulped, a shiver running up his spine, and hung his head down in shame.

“He said yes. Which means you tried to fool me into this. And the only reason to do it would be…”

“You could have just _asked!_ I… _”_ The acolyte raised his face to glare at Ambrose. It was a mistake. The man was now facing him, not the wall, which gave Eli a full frontal. He felt the heat spreading through his face and down his neck but couldn’t help but stare, transfixed. It was bigger now – was he… aroused?

“I think it’s funnier this way, don’t you? Well, you don’t, but it is.” The man laughed, hands on his waist, before catching Eli’s gaze. “Ah, there it is. _The_ _look_. Good to know I haven’t been misreading it all this time!”

He approached, and the acolyte instinctively stepped back, until his back was to the door of the confessional and Ambrose was looming over him, framed by the candlelight. They were so close to touching, dear Lady of Petals, _so_ _close_.

Eli gibbered incoherently, trying and failing to find words. He raised his hands against the naked chest of the other man, but couldn’t gather the will to push him away, especially not after he felt a calloused hand cupping the side of his face.

“You’re so cute, you know that? Like a deva. A small one. Without wings. Or blue skin. I guess what I’m saying is you’re blonde and pretty and stuff,” the awkward confession spurred forward while he slowly traced Eli’s lips with a thumb. “I want us to do a laying on of hands that the Lady might not approve off”

If he had any breath left by that point, Eli would have lost it. Instead he breathed in hard, then out, not quite hyperventilating, but getting there. He finally remembered how to word, if poorly:

“I’m sorry this can’t work I’m to become a holy man I-“ The hand that was softly caressing his face moved to shut his mouth, and Ambrose laughed.

“You lied about her magic just so you could fondle my ass, darling. If Flowergirl was gonna smite your power away or something, she would have done it, no? Flawless theology, admit it” Eli grunted against the fingers that silenced him, trying to refute it, even though the argument made sense. Suddenly, he felt a hand groping at his crotch and yelped “Also, _this._ I remember something about thinking of sinning already being sinful or such. So hey, why not go all the way, then repent later?”

His mouth was released, his crotch wasn’t. Ambrose started moving his hand, caressing up and down, and It felt _heavenly_ , as if Eli wasn’t the one with the magic fingers. He opened his mouth to offer protest, to defend his faith, but let out a strangled, defeated moan instead.

“Be honest with me… look who’s talking, I know. But please,” he pleaded, breathing heavily, fingers curling up at his side as he stopped himself from either pushing Ambrose away or pulling him closer. “What… would you want to do? After.”

A moment passed in which the other man only stared intensely at him, with hungry eyes, though his hand kept at it. Then a smile, and the answer:

“Drag you with me across the land fighting evil and whatnot.” And something inside Eli broke, sending warmth flooding forth. It wasn’t a one-time thing then. That was all the assurance he needed.

“Never wanted to be a priest anyway,” he said, and wrapped his arms around the hero, right there in the most sacred of places. He went down with the hand that had been healing before and _grabbed,_ with all the strength he longed to use before but couldn’t. Ambrose gasped, surprised for a second, before grinning mischievously. He was also fully hard now, Eli could feel it pressed against his stomach.

“Then we’d better get rid of these.” The – former? – acolyte felt his robes being tugged at and obliged, pulling at the various buttons so hard some of them popped out. As soon as he pulled it over his head, he felt a mouth latching on to his chest, suckling and nibbling as equally dexterous hands worked to rid him of his trousers.

“Shouldn’t – shouldn’t we kiss first or something?” He managed to ask in-between his ragged breaths after throwing the priestly garb aside. Ambrose had already made his trousers drop and was working on his underpants.

“We only do that before these come into play, sweet thing.” Eli threw his head back and held in a scream as his until now confined and aching erection was released and immediately grasped in Ambrose’s hand. “But don’t worry, there will be plenty of time for that later. Now don’t just stand there, do me too,” he whispered into Eli’s ear, nibbling softly at the lobe.

He did just that, not needing to be told so twice. The moan he heard in response was among the most satisfying sounds ever, and it shot straight to his loins, driving him dangerously close to the edge.

“Rose, don’t- that fast, I’ll-” Instead of complying, the other man grinned and stroked even faster. It was too much. Eli gasped and mewled shamefully, his toes curling in and the door creaking as his legs gave in and he threw his weight back.

As he laid there, melting, Rose ran a finger through the newly-created splotch in his hip and licked it absent-mindedly. “We’re gonna have to do some endurance training, hm. This won’t do at all…”

Eli grunted, annoyed, and let himself fall to his knees, grabbing Rose’s cock and putting it in his mouth. Before the man could even react, his tongue was already at work, no longer dry like it was minutes ago. The receiver drew a long, pleasured breath, curling his fingers on Eli’s golden locks. “Is this what they’ve been- teaching in priest school these- _ugh_ -“

He had grossly underestimated how quickly something he’d spent months longing for would get him off. As premature ecstasy shot through his veins, the Blade of Spring bent forward, grasp tightening on Eli’s hair, which didn’t stop him from pulling away, gagging and coughing from the unexpected climax.

“You were saying?” He grinned, looking up and seeing Rose a panting mess.

“Let us never speak of this again. Seriously, I’ve got a reputation to keep.”

“Let’s have the bards omit this detail from your legend, then”

“ _Our_ legend,” Rose corrected him, grinning. “Or are you chickening out?”

In response, he put his trousers back, but not the robes. He did keep the flower pendant, after some consideration. “Let me just check one thing…”

His hands still shone on demand – more brightly, even? Wishful thinking, most likely, but still.

As they left the temple together, the Blade of Spring’s left buttock was a hundred percent draconic wounding free.

**Author's Note:**

> deadline looming = characters with premature ejaculations
> 
> This worldbuild has no substance and these characters have no backstory and I have no shame
> 
> why am I like this


End file.
